


The Joker's Favorite Doll

by Avanalae



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Creepy, Joker is a creepy mofo, Other, no pairings unless you want to ship JokerTim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 03:10:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10822506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avanalae/pseuds/Avanalae
Summary: The person seated on the throne is perfectly still, completely incapable of movement aside from the minuscule rising of their chest that revealed they were still alive.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted February 2013.

The brown-paper wrapped package under the Joker’s arm crinkles loudly as the demented man skips into the dark warehouse. He giggles excitedly as he finds the switch and the lights slowly come on, lighting starting at the entrance a pair at a time before reaching the back, revealing an interesting sight.

He had decorated the whole warehouse to resemble something akin to a dollhouse, which was only appropriate for what he kept there. When the lights flickered on in the back, the Joker’s smile broadened.

“Good morning, little bird!” he cackles and walks towards the figure perched on a glittering throne. The chair is surrounded by stuffed animals, large and small, as well as racks and closets and cupboards of clothes and accessories and more. It’s a scene out of a storybook, out of a catalog for the most elegant of doll houses.

The person seated on the throne is perfectly still, completely incapable of movement aside from the minuscule rising of their chest that revealed they were still alive.

“I hope you had a good night. I was so very sad to not be able to spend the night, you know. But it couldn’t be helped.” His pale, thin hand reaches out and brushes the shoulder-length black locks behind a lovely ear. He spends another few moments adjusting the small person to his desires.

“I got you a new outfit to apologize – hee hee – because I just felt so bad. I do hope you like it.”

The Joker unwraps the brown package to reveal a skirt that would be classified as “Lolita” if someone were to see it. It was white and very poufy, with happy little bird designs along the hem.

“I thought it suited you so well and I just couldn’t resist.” The Joker hops over to one of the clothes racks, searching for something in particular. “Ah! Here we are!” He pulls out a blood red blouse and holds it up to the skirt, comparing it. “Yes! Just perfect, like I thought!” he chuckles.

He grabs a nice black cardigan on the way back to the frozen being. The Joker examines the current outfit before sighing sadly. “It seems to be such a shame to remove that. It looks so good on you.”

The outfit was akin to what young English nobility would wear in the 1800s. Complete with the shorts and sock garters, making the now obvious man look very boyish. The white, black, and dark blues accentuated the figure and features, emphasizing his attractiveness.

“Oh well. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have you wear it again sometime. For now, though…” Joker smiled broadly, “Let’s get you changed, shall we?”

Slowly, taking obvious pleasure in the act, he started to remove the clothes. With careful hands, each piece came off and was folded neatly before being put to the side.

“I ran into your friends yesterday, you know. Hee hee. They didn’t ask about you, but that may be my fault. Bombs can be rather distracting.” He finishes removing all the accessories and tops and moves on to removing the cute pants. Taking unholy glee in slowly unbuttoning it and pulling it down slim, pale his and lovely thighs.

“I still don’t like them, but I tried being nice. Even though they’re not the real bats and birdie, I did my best to be polite.” His laugh is maniacal and he pulls away for a moment to laugh without worrying about damaging anything. He soon regains himself though, and pulls the shorts the rest of the way off. “Can’t have you worrying about them, after all. Don’t want you to be stressed and ruin your complexion.”

He drags his hands down milky legs while removing the boxers, leaving the boy completely exposed. “I’m so very glad we could get rid of most of your blemishes. You’re so much more lovely now, though I will admit those scars were lovely in their own right, I just couldn’t bear to leave you with such mars. It just wouldn’t be right! I still can’t believe the other batsies allowed you to go out and get injured. Your stunning mind…” The Joker takes an arm in his hands and in a mockery of affection rubs the skin, seeming to worship it. “You should have been locked away, safe and protected and let to use that stunning mind of yours without worry. Such a shame.” His hands crawl up to shoulders. “Such a shame.”

With a brush of his knuckles across a soft cheek, he grabs the new outfit and sets about dressing the boy again. He pulls a nice pair of plain white panties up into place before following it with the new skirt. The blouse comes next followed by the cardigan. Once those are in place, he adjusts the limbs and clothes into an attractive position.

“Yes, yes. I am so glad I got it. It suits you so very well.” He slips on a pair of lacy socks and a shiny pair of Mary Jane’s, smoothing the socks into place by running his hands over shapely calves. “So glad I could get you, little bird. Those batsies never deserved you. Not watching you carefully… what were they thinking?” He stands and lays a kiss on an unmarked forehead, making sure not to leave a smear of his lipstick. “Don’t worry, I will always watch over you and take care of you like you deserve. Always.”

He looks down into beautiful blank blue eyes and his own widen maniacally.

“Now now.”

He reaches up and brushes away the tears that had escaped.

“We wouldn’t want to get your new outfit dirty, would we? You know I hate punishing you but I work hard to get you such lovely things and I don’t want you to ruin another one.”

Another tear falls, caught by the hand that twists to cups his cheek.

“Shh, no more tears. They can’t get you now.”

Joker rearranges him and wipes away the wetness on his cheeks with a handy handkerchief.

“Hush now, Timmy. Good birds don’t cry.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted February 2013.

Being completely incapable of doing anything physical provides a lot of time to think. Though sometimes even thinking is difficult, especially right after a dose paralytic.

But when he can think, he can’t stop.

He thinks about his friends, his family, how they’re doing, how he’s doing, what the Joker’s going to do when he comes back next time, when will he cross that invisible line and rape him, why haven’t the others found him yet, and will he ever be able to recover from this if he is rescued?

So many questions that Tim can’t know the answers to. Not when he can’t even willingly twitch a finger and blinking is a slow and arduous process.

He thinks about Bruce. He just came back and things had been going back to normal before the Joker came along. Tim hopes that he’s doing well adjusting and wonders what their relationship would have been like should Tim not have been kidnapped. He wonders if Bruce is worried about him. If he’s looking for him.

He thinks about Dick, too. If __he’s__ looking for him. How he’s doing as Batman. If Bruce has gone back to being Batman and he’s gone back to being Nightwing. He wonders how that would work with Damian. He wonders if Damian even cares. He doubts it but can’t help but contemplate the chances that the demon child is actively keeping attention away from Tim in an attempt to keep Tim from the family (which would be nothing new). He thinks about the chances he would have had with Dick. If they would have gotten along again. If they’d be brothers once more after a time. Tim’s long forgiven Dick for replacing him with Damian. At least, he thinks he does.

It’s hard to feel much of anything.

He thinks about the others, too: Cassandra, Barbara, Stephanie, and even Jason.

He wonders how Cass is doing in Hong Kong and if she’s managed to defeat Cricket. He hopes she has. It would mean so much to her and he would be so happy and proud. He misses her a lot. He tries to remember the last time he called her and they talked, but his perception of time and how it has passed is completely broken.

He is pretty sure Babs is fine. She’s always been so strong and managed to handle not only herself but the whole crazy Wayne family. He wonders if she’s looking for him. She’s probably at least notice he’s fallen off the grid. At least he hopes so.

Tim thinks about Steph and how she’s doing. Last he knew, she was taking a vacation from being Batgirl and was enjoying some time with her mother. He hopes that they are both well.

Jason… Tim never hated Jason. Nor was he ever really mad at him. He’d been thinking about ways to get on friendlier terms with the man and had succeeded in at least talking to him a few times without much blood being drawn. But he can’t do that now. He hopes that maybe Bruce has gone to talk to his estranged son. It would be nice if the whole family could get together again.

It doesn’t matter if he’s a part of that family or not.

_

Tim hears the doors creak open followed by a raspy chuckle – two sounds he has come to dread with all the emotion he can scrounge up.

He tries to drown out the words the man speaks and generally succeeds, but it’s the most difficult when he’s touching him.

It’s hard to block out the feeling of those claw-like fingernails scarping over his cheek. It’s hard to ignore the feeling of hands molesting his legs. It’s hard to imagine anything else when the horrible man is changing his clothing and dressing him up in cloth and jewels.

It’s hard to not hear the words when he’s being touched.

It’s hard to not listen to him talk about his day and what he’s done to Tim’s family or what he’s going to do to him.

It’s so very hard.

Sometimes the touches will get invasive and Tim will feel more than he usually does, being so suppressed by the paralytics. He will feel fear, disgust, terror, and horror. When they’re coupled by hurtful words – words about the pain he’s put his family in or speculative words about how his family hasn’t come looking for him…

He’ll cry those times.

Being paralyzed ensures that there is no way for him to hold back or hide those tears.

In the beginning, when this was new, the first time the Joker touched the inside of his thighs, his hips, his chest, and talked about his family, he cried. He cried for a long while, the tears running continuously and unhindered down his cheeks despite the Joker telling him to “stop that, you’ll ruin your clothes.”

And he did ruin them. Or at least, he assumes he did. He vaguely remembers the feel of his tears soaking the shirt he had been wearing at the time. The Joker was very clever though – very inventive in his punishment.

Tim had been left, completely naked, in that warehouse for a long while. A few days, if he took the times Joker came to visit as a measure of time. And each day Joker would look at him and if he was crying or had been crying, he wouldn’t get clothes. Eventually Tim had stopped, the tears drying after days of nudity and the Joker touching him without the reason of clothing and bathing him.

But still the occasional tear slips free.

_

The Joker’s outfits have been getting more and more extravagant. Currently he’s in an admittedly gorgeous ball gown. Shades of blue and red shimmer and swirl together, looking almost purple but also as their individual shades. Silver jewels glint in the dim lights of the warehouse. Joker had gone the whole distance, styling his hair and dressing him in gems and silk, all of which he only got a glimpse of in the mirror that was flashed before him. The Joker had taken it away after that but he found himself wishing he had left it.

He doesn’t look anything like himself anymore.

He wonders if his family would even recognize him if they walked in at this moment.

His scars were gone; his hair was longer; his figure had softened (due likely to lack of movement, not that he was chubby, just softer – less muscular); and his eyes…

He barely recognized himself.

He’d made a guess from the length of his hair but the Joker – in an attempt to either be helpful or just break his spirit – had told him how long it had been.

3 months.

3 months and he was still here.

He they given up? Did they even start looking?

…

Do they even care?

Perhaps the Joker had told him because he had wanted to punish him.

But instead of being stripped, he was now blinded, thick cloth wrapped cross his eyes.

Thick cloth already damp from tears.


End file.
